Why, hello there. I'm Stratoverra.

Love crosses its islands, from grief to grief

it sets its roots, watered with tears

and no one —no one— can escape the

heart’s progress

as it runs, silent and carnivorous.

You and I searched for a wide valley, for

another planet

where the salt wouldn’t touch your hair,

where sorrows couldn’t grow because of

anything I did,

where bread could live and not grow old.

A planet entwined with vistas and foliage,

a plain, a rock, hard and unoccupied:

we wanted to build a strong nest

with our own hands, without hurt of harm

or speech,

but love was not like that: love was a

lunatic city

with crowds of people blanching on

their porches.

-Sonnet 71 by Pablo Neruda